


Ultimate Betrayal

by ereshai



Category: Inception (2010), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Character Death In Dream, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, perceived character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3906634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint wants revenge, and nothing, no matter how strange, is going to stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ultimate Betrayal

There was something odd about the city, aside from the waiting emptiness of the buildings looming around him; despite the darkness swallowing the wide streets, the complete lack of light sources both manmade and natural, he could see pretty well. Clint’s night vision was good, but not that good.

A few blocks ahead of him, he spotted a familiar figure disappearing around a corner, a flash of red hair briefly illuminated by the mysterious light source. He’d know Natasha anywhere. This was the closest he’d come to finding her in _months._  He sped up – he couldn’t lose her now. His footsteps failed to echo in the silence.

He rounded the corner and came to an abrupt stop. His quarry was nowhere in sight, but about a dozen feet away, a neon sign glowed weakly in the window of a rundown little building. The door was just swinging closed. He approached cautiously. The place was one step up from a shack – it didn’t fit in with the orderly, modern architecture of the surrounding buildings – but it was also the only evidence of life he’d seen since arriving in the city. The sign in the window said ‘OPEN’. Overhead, chipped and faded paint spelled out BAR – no other name. The door creaked open at his touch and Clint stepped inside.

Soft music played, a woman singing soulfully in French. At the bar, half in shadow, a dark-haired woman sat with her back to him. The rest of the place was empty.

“Hello,” he called out. The woman obviously wasn’t Natasha; he didn’t need to see her face to know that.

The woman turned and smiled at him. She had luminous blue eyes. “There you are,” she said with a slight French accent. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

There were two drinks on the bar, though no bartender was in sight. He took a few steps closer. “Do I know you?” He was sure he didn’t.

“Not yet,” she said with a coy smile. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she continued when he stopped abruptly. “I’m here to help you, not seduce you.”

“You can help me find Natasha?” Clint sat on a barstool – not the one next to the woman – and reached over to grab the drink he assumed was for him. He did not take a drink.

“Who is she? Your lover?” She took a sip of her drink, then set the glass down and idly traced a finger around the rim. In anyone else, the movement would be seductive, but she seemed too melancholy for that.

“No.” His grip tightened on the glass. “Maybe you’ve seen her. She’s got red hair, and she’s skinny like you but not as tall. I’m not sure what she’s wearing.” How had he seen the red of her hair, recognized how she moved, but he couldn’t tell what she had been wearing? This dead city was creeping him out.

“Only we are here,” she said, and Clint didn’t think she was just talking about the bar.

“Then you can help me how?”

“I can show you the way home,” she said simply.

“I don’t have a home.” Clint’s jaw clenched. “Natasha took it from me. That’s why I need to find her. If you can’t help me with that, then…” He stood up, ready to leave.

“I had a home once. A family.” Her voice was wistful. “Two children, a boy and a girl. My husband. We had so much love.”

“You lost them.” _Like me._

“They lost me.” She smiled sadly and took another sip of her drink. “Come. I have something to show you.” She left her glass on the bar and walked toward the exit.

Clint followed her, though he took his own glass with him. He had a feeling that he might need a stiff drink.

The bright midday sky blinded him when he stepped through the door. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes. How long had they been in that bar? Instead of a deserted street, they were standing on a terrace overlooking the whole city.

“Wha-“ he began, but the woman was heading toward the concrete wall skirting the edge of the building with a determined stride.

“Come and see,” she said, standing up on her tiptoes and bracing her arms on the wall so she could look down into the street below them. She swayed too far forward for Clint’s comfort.

Clint went to stand next to her. The wall wasn’t high enough to be true barrier to an accidental fall, and he was able to see over the side without trouble. “What am I looking for?” The streets below were as empty in the light as they had been in darkness.

“This place, it represents a life’s work. It’s quite an accomplishment – most architects can only dream of the opportunity to create so much. Do you know what it really is?”

Clint shook his head.

“A grave. A living death. For the rest of your life, which will stretch out forever in front of you until you finally forget who you are.” She tipped forward even more, and her feet left the ground. She looked as if she was about to take flight.

“I don’t understand.” He turned slowly to face her, ready to grab her if she lost her balance.

“Let me show you the way home,” she said, finally looking at him.

“Mal,” came a man’s voice from behind them. “Not like this. Please.”

Clint whirled. The man stood in the doorway. The light of the sun illuminated a portion of the darkened room behind him – a comfortably furnished living room, not the bar they had come from. He looked down at the glass in his hand. It didn’t look like he’d taken a drink unknowingly. A sip wouldn't be enough to screw with his mind if it was drugged.

“I’m coming home, Dom,” the woman said. She kept her eyes fixed on the street below.

“That’s not possible, no matter how much I wish for it.” The man stepped out onto the terrace.

“Let me show you,” the woman whispered, and she tipped forward, toppling over the edge. Clint lunged after her – when had he moved so far away? – and the fabric of her dress fluttered over his fingertips. She fell without a sound.

Clint looked away. He didn’t need to see another death he could have prevented. He looked back at the man, who was still standing by the door, his eyes squeezed shut and his fists clenched at his sides.

“What the hell is going on?” Clint growled.

“I’ll never be completely free of her ghost. Not here,” the man replied. He opened his eyes and Clint could see the sadness in them.

“That was your wife? I thought…She said…” Clint trailed off. She hadn’t actually said anything, had she?

“My wife is dead, Agent Barton. She took her own life years ago.” The man walked over to the edge of the balcony and looked over the side. “But yes, that was my wife, Mal. Or as close as I can dream her to be.”

Clint took a step back, keeping just outside the man’s reach. “Tell me what’s going on. And I don’t want to hear some goddam ghost story.”

“Do you know anything about dream sharing?” The man turned and looked at Clint. He didn’t look like he was about to attack; Clint held himself ready for one anyway.

“I’ve heard of it.” Clint had only the bare minimum of information; SHIELD kept up with all emerging technologies, especially experimental military programs, but there were too many for one person to keep track of on their own.

“Do you know where you are? What city?” The man looked away, his gaze sweeping over the dead city.

“What does that have to do with anything?” The abrupt change in topic was responsible for Clint’s confusion; of course he knew where he was, and as soon as he had a moment to think clearly, he would answer the question. “I get it. You want me to believe this is a dream.”

“It is a dream. I’m here to wake you up.” The man pulled a gun from behind his back and aimed at Clint. Clint threw his drink in the man’s face and leapt at him, disarming him easily. He backed away, the gun now in his hands and pointed at the man.

“No more bullshit. Where’s Natasha?”

The man wiped his face and then held his hands out in a placating gesture. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Please, just hear me out.”

“Give me one good reason.”

“Just look down into the street and tell me what you see.” He kept his hands up and took a few steps back when Clint motioned him away with the gun.

Clint risked a look over the side of the building. The street was completely empty. He looked back at the man. “This is some kind of trick. You’re working with Natasha.”

“If you would just-“

“I know enough about dream share to know you’re trying to kill me. Or get me to kill myself. So I’ll ‘wake up’, right? Last chance. Where . Is. Natasha?” Clint lowered the gun until it was aimed at the man’s leg. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I start blowing off body parts.”

“Agent Barton, do you remember the operation in Gdansk?”

“Standard surveillance on a suspected AIM lab. It didn’t pan out. Say goodbye to your left knee.”

“Wait,” the man said. “You were betrayed. Not by Natasha,“ he added quickly. “AIM captured you, and put you in a shared dream. Over and over again.”

“Why would they do that?” Did this guy think he would believe him just like that? It was just a play for time. But that might bring Natasha out of hiding.

“Inception.” The man waited expectantly, as if that should mean something to Clint.

“I’m shaking. Really.”

“Inception is…It’s complicated, but essentially, it’s a way to manipulate someone’s mind, make them do something they might not have done otherwise, and think it was their own idea.”

“And what does AIM want me to do?”

“Based on what the STRIKE team found, they wanted to turn you against your partner, to the point that you would try to kill her.  It looks like it worked. Can I put my hands down?”

“Fine,” Clint said absently. If Natasha hadn’t…This was too good to be true. It had to be. “So you’re saying that Natasha wasn’t the one who killed Bobbi and Fr-“ he stumbled over his son’s name. “Francis.”

“Agent Barton,” the man began, then hesitated. “Agent Barton. Your family wasn’t killed.”

“Don’t.” The word was ripped from Clint’s throat. “Don’t lie to me. I held them in my arms!”

“Agent- Clint. The family Natasha took from you never existed. AIM had you for a long time; they tried several scenarios. That was the one dream that didn’t fall apart when they put you in it.”

Clint shook his head. “No.”

 “Bobbi is very much alive, but you two aren’t married anymore. She didn’t tell me why, though.”

“I…no. That-” He lowered the gun, his gaze fixed on the man across from him.

“You never had any children.”

Clint stared at him. He _remembered_ it. Him, and Bobbi, and Francis. Together. His family.

“Does October 12th mean anything to you? Bobbi thought that might help remind you.”

“I…she…Shut up!” The day their baby should have been born. _But he had been_. Hadn’t he?

“It felt real, I know that better than anyone. But it wasn’t, none of it was, and you have to wake up before you’re lost here forever.”

“Wake up, just like that? My life is a nightmare. Do you think I wouldn’t have woken up a long time ago if that was possible?” Clint began to pace back and forth across the balcony. This had to be another of Natasha’s tricks.

“I can show you the way.”

“That sounds familiar. You’re as crazy as your wife.”

“I have to live with Mal’s death every day. I have to live without her, knowing it’s my fault she’s gone. I do that instead of staying here, where I could be with her for the rest of my life. Because it isn’t real, and it’s no kind of life.” The man took a step forward and Clint stopped pacing and took a step back.

“Wait. You said SHIELD rescued me from AIM. Why am I still in the dream then, if none of this is real? Why didn’t they just wake me up?” Clint held the gun up again. Nothing made sense anymore.

“AIM was experimenting with the somnacin mixture – the drug used in dream share. Something went wrong during the rescue, and your consciousness ended up in Limbo. SHIELD hasn’t been able to wake you using conventional methods, so they called me in. I’m something of an expert.”

“Limbo? What the fuck is that? How can I trust anything you say? My whole life is really an AIM trick, but SHIELD rescued me, so I should just shoot myself in the head because everything’s hunky-dory?”

“You don’t have to use the gun,” the man said mildly.

A gust of wind blew past them, causing the man to stumble a little. Clint looked around. They were no longer standing on the balcony, but on a walkway suspended over a deep chasm.

“What?” Clint looked down at the grate under his feet. He stamped once, and the metal reverberated with a dull ring. There was no railing.

“Let yourself go. You’ll be home before you reach the bottom.”

“Just that easy, huh?” Too real to be a dream, but it had to be. And that meant the whole thing could finally end.

“I’ll come, too. We can go at the same time.” The man stepped closer to the edge of the walkway.

“Wait. It’s Dom, right?” Even if this wasn’t a dream (it _had_ to be), maybe it was time to let it all end. He was so tired.

“Yeah, Dom Cobb.”

“Okay, Dom, I’m doing this. I must be crazy. Will I remember any of this when I wake up?” He didn’t know if he wanted to or not.

“Probably. Somnacin dreams tend to linger like memories. But memories fade.”

_Not all of them_ , Clint thought. “Let’s do this.” He looked into the deep darkness stretching down who knew how far below them. He jumped off of things all the time; this shouldn’t be so hard. _I always had some kind of safety net before_.

Cobb gave him a small smile and stepped forward, not so much a leap into the unknown as a drop. He fell silently, just as his wife had.

“Aw, fuck it,” Clint said, and jumped, fear and hope forcing a yell from him that echoed as he went down, down, down-

Clint opened his eyes, blinking furiously at the brightness. Only SHIELD Medical could be so impossibly _white_. The figure sitting in the chair next to him came into focus – Cobb. He was leaning forward and rubbing his face. A slight noise from the other of his bed made Clint turn his head. Fury was standing there, a smile on his face.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” Fury said.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this a few months ago when I learned about Clint's Ultimates family and what happened to them. Since Clint and Natasha are my brotp, I immediately decided that it was all a dream, because I could not accept that Natasha would do what she did in that 'verse.


End file.
